


Ramien December 1874

by Clockwork_Dragon



Series: Ramien drabbles [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I'm sorry Damien, Letters, M/M, So much angst, Writing, if that triggers you please don't read, like a lot of historical inaccuracy, that's it that's the fic, there's some fluff but not much, vague mentions of religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22362484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork_Dragon/pseuds/Clockwork_Dragon
Summary: A young Damien, age 8, has a crush. On a boy. His mother doesn't take it well.OrAngst land feat. Damien's terrible parents
Series: Ramien drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596172
Kudos: 3





	Ramien December 1874

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, I would say I'm sorry about this but it had to happen for the rest of Damien's story. Like I said in the tags, this drabble is 85% homophobia and abusive parenting. Please, please don't read this if it'll trigger you. Stay safe, I love you.

December 1874, England

It was a cold, frosty morning as Damien sat at his desk, quill hovering over his inkwell as he thought about what to write.  _ Another letter _ , he thought,  _ yes, that sounds good. _ So, with only a moment of hesitation, he dipped his quill in the ink, and began to write.

_ Dear Nathan, _

_ I know you’re never going to read this letter. No one will, I hope. But I  _

_ have to write this down, or else I may go mad. Although, I’m probably _

_ crazy already, just for feeling this way. No-one else I know does, and  _

_ you probably don’t either, but even if I am crazy, that doesn’t change _

_ my feelings. You see- _

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. He always had to when he wrote these kind of letters, but he wrote them anyway. He continued,

_ I love you Nathan. Not like as a friend, though I do love you like that too. _

_ But I mean I love you like I’m supposed to love a girl. When I see you, I  _

_ feel li——— _

His letter was cut short, ink flung across the paper as he jerked back from the incriminating words as his father walked into his room. He smiled at him, saying

“Are you writing poetry again, Damien? For a lovely young lady, perhaps? Though that doesn’t look like poetry.” Damien quickly covered the paper with his sleeve, not minding the wet ink in his rush to keep his secret safe. The secret he had so stupidly written down.

“No, it’s uh, it’s a letter. To uh,” Then, he was hit by an excuse, and he quickly rushed to say, “myself! I’d heard people writing to their future self and, well, I thought I’d give it a try!” He said, a little too happily on the last phrase. His father didn’t notice, however, only laughing a little. 

“Children and their crazy ideas. Come on, son. Let’s go downstairs for breakfast before you have to go to school.” Damien nodded and stood up, surreptitiously flipping the paper over. 

———

When he got home from school that day, he was met with his mother, her arms crossed. Before he could say a word, she asked him sharply,

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Of what?” he asked weakly, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach. Surely, it couldn’t be what he thought it was. He must have forgotten to clean his room, or he was doing poorly in one of his classes, or she had found the frog he had hidden in the house a week ago because he thought it was cute. 

“The letter I found on your desk this morning. And, the ones like it hidden under your bed. And,” She added, scrunching her nose at it, like it was a vile piece of filth, “the  _ poetry _ .” She spat out the word like a swear, making Damien flinch. He had never felt so small in his life. To see his mother, usually so kind, if a little strict, filled with contempt and disgust at  _ him  _ was terrifying. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and hide where she couldn’t find him. But, there was no escaping that look on her face that seemed so  _ hateful  _ and so  _ foreign _ . Surely, he thought, it wasn’t his mother who was looking at him like that! No, it had to be someone else who looked exactly like her. There was no other way to explain it. Or at least, no way he was willing to think about. 

She waited for a response, but seeing that he wasn’t going to offer one, she continued. 

“I don’t know where you got these ridiculous notions that you could ever love a boy. Your father and I have done our best to raise you, and this is how you repay us?” Damien couldn’t reply, or even look her in the eye. She snapped her fingers in front of Damien’s nose, startling him and making him flinch again.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, child. And stop flinching!” Damien muttered some kind of apology, which seemed to please her somewhat.

“Now. We can stop this nonsense before it goes too far. You’re young, and easily confused. Once you see how wrong you were, you’ll be embarrassed by this whole thing. I want to talk to your father before we make any decisions, however, so go to your room until he gets home tonight. And I’ve taken your ink and paper, so don’t think you can write any more,” she paused, as if deciding on what word would be best to show her level of disgust, “ _ blasphemous  _ letters.” Damien silently went upstairs to his room, where, to his surprise, his sister was sitting on his bed. She was perched on the edge, sifting through a stack of papers on her lap. She looked up as she came in and said without any sort of prelude,

“You know, some of these poems are actually quite good. It’s a pity that their subject matter is a little…”

“Blasphemous,” Damien offered, his mother’s words still ringing in his ears.

“Controversial,” his sister said carefully. “Really though,” she continued in a lower voice, “I don’t know why she’s making such a big deal of this. It’s not like writing these is illegal.”

“You don’t think I’m a monster? Or crazy?” He asked, still not convinced. She nodded in a knowing way only an older sibling who was only a few years older could, saying 

“Of course not. You’re still my brother. Though,” she added in an even lower voice, “maybe we shouldn’t let them know. For our safety.” He nodded, fear flashing in his eyes as he realized what she was saying. His parents weren’t safe. Not anymore.


End file.
